


You Forget to be Clever

by sobachka



Series: Zoyalai Works [8]
Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, assassins au (!!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28240164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobachka/pseuds/sobachka
Summary: assassin zoya and her mark nikolai...and yeah they dance
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Series: Zoyalai Works [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789732
Comments: 11
Kudos: 31





	You Forget to be Clever

Zoya was never one to complain about a job, but this was low on her list of favorites. It wasn't on the list at all, really.

She never did like masquerade balls.

But at least this time she wasn't expected to dance- no, this time her mission was simple, and this time, she was alone.

The hall was shrouded in dim, golden light that fell from the many hanging chandeliers, and red and gold silk was draped across the walls in a style she couldn't name the origin of but found rather appealing. Her mark was dancing, she'd been told he liked to dance. How exactly she would get him off the dance floor and alone for this mission, she wasn't certain.

Zoya watched his form as he led his partner through the steps, half his face hidden by a mask in the shape of a red fox, ears perked up in calm alert. She cocked her head at him, curious. She hadn't been told much about her mark, just that he'd interfered with their agency's plans one too many times and had since become a nuisance. 

Morozova hadn't said it outright, but she suspected there was more to the story. 

_ How much can I learn before the posion stops his heart? _

Not much.

She glanced at the large clock hanging on the wall behind her,a great, ever-expanding thing that must've needed two or three men just to bring into the hall. Nearly twelve. 

_ I'm running out of time _ .

Which was not an option. Zoya wasn't just the best assassin- she had killed the best. She had reached her standing through nothing less than raw determination, and a hardened heart. And this man would not be the one to bring her down.

"May I have this dance?" 

The voice was calm, the barest hint of teasing beneath the polite request, and it made Zoya frown as she turned to face it's owner, a refusal already on her tongue.

She froze when her eyes met a pair of bright hazel eyes, peeking out behind a red snout. 

_ So eager for death, little prince, _ the voice in her head mocked. Zoya let a smile spread across her red painted lips, adjusting her purple dragon mask and letting him take her gloved hand in his.

"It would be my pleasure."

She watched the crowd as Lantsov watched her, the way all men did, no doubt. It was a good thing her dress dipped low and the slit in the silver fabric gave a good view of her legs as she walked. 

She would need to get him alone soon.

"Are you enjoying the party?" He asked, hand settling at her waist as he pulled her close. Zoya frowned when she realized he hadn't actually been studying her form, his eyes caught instead on the cuff at her wrist, the one that concealed her weapon- Genya's greatest invention yet.

"A bit disappointed, really," she said, draping her hand over his shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Not in the company, I hope?" He asked good-naturedly, but a smile threatened to pull at his lips as his eyes moved on from the cuff and latched onto her own eyes, as though he found this whole charade very amusing.

"More in the place," she admitted, letting her lashes flutter- averted eyes, touch of a flirtatious grin, leaning closer- playing with men was her favorite pastime. "Though I suppose that could change."

His brows were hidden by the red mask, but she could tell a single brow had been raised.

"If, say, I were to show you some of the nicer parts of the house?" He offered, grinning slyly.  _ There we go,  _ Zoya thought. She didn't have time to waste, and it seemed she wasn't the only one in a rush. 

"Perhaps," she allowed.

"And then," she didn't notice the gleam in his eyes until he had spun them around and dipped her, causing her fingers to tighten on his shirt, holding onto him. His lips brushed against her ear, his next words a deliberate whisper. "you could complete Morozova's mission?"

It was a good thing he was holding onto her because Zoya froze completely.

He chuckled lightly, straightening and bringing her along with him, resuming the dance as though nothing had changed. As though her heart wasn't beating wildly in her chest, fear gripping her body.

"I'm not sure I understand," she tried, but the words must've sounded hollow, and when his eyes met hers again, she had a new description in mind for them.  _ Clever _ . Clever as the mask of the animal he wore.

Saints, she should have asked Morozova for more details. More time.

"Well you aren't the first to try and kill me," he said, almost thoughtfully, "just the prettiest." 

He punctuated his words with a wink, grinning.

Zoya wanted to scream.

The only reason he would be so calm… was if he had anticipated the attack.

Which meant she was the one in danger now. She glanced around the room as subtly as she could- there, two guards, one short and the other large and threatening, both of them watching her.

"He doesn't trust you," Lantsov added, sensing her shock.

That made Zoya look back at him. She eyed him warily, still refusing to give herself away. 

"Morozova, that is. If he did, he wouldn't have set this place to blow up in-" he glanced behind her at the clock before adding, "six minutes."

"What?" Zoya stopped completely, her heart dropping to her feet. A couple bumped into them from behind and Lantsov smoothly turned them back around. He was gently leading them through the steps, Zoya hardly aware of her own movements.

"The clock," he explained, eyes softening ever so slightly, "it's connected to three bombs that had been ready to blow at the strike of twelve."

Her gaze dropped to the smooth tile they were dancing on before snapping back up to his, eyes narrowing.

_ "He'll be dead by midnight, I'll make sure of it." _

_ "Of that, Nazyalensky, I have no doubt." _

"Liar." She said simply.

Lantsov sighed, sounding almost disappointed. 

"Why would you invite this many people if you knew the floors would go up in- what, six minutes? You wouldn't endanger them. You wouldn't endanger yourself."

"Five," he corrected, "and obviously not, I plan to die fat and happy and bald, and not dressed in such finery. Preferably many decades in the future."

"That isn't a choice for you to make," she snarled.

"Yet you were so ready to make it for me," he mused, an edge to his words. 

Zoya swallowed, her gaze running from the clock, to the ground, to Lantsov. Back to the clock. 

It had been five minutes to midnight when they started dancing. The numbers hadn't changed.

"You disabled it," she said quietly.

"I did it myself, actually." 

"Then why am I still alive?"

Lantsov watched her for a moment, and she realized the music had stopped- not stopped, ended. The dance floor was clearing up, but she couldn't move, and he made no effort to abandon it either.

After a moment he stepped back, taking her hand, her cuff gleaming as he raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles.

"Because now, when I ask you to meet me in three days at the wearhouse down the street, I know you'll agree."

"Why would I do that?" She asked, her voice not holding the venom she'd intended.

"Curiosity," he offered, stepping away, eyes gleaming, a clever man concealed by a clever fox, disappearing into the crowd as he walked backwards. "And the shared desire to take down Morozova."


End file.
